


Not the Target, But The Arrow

by artemismoon12



Category: CPCoulter's Dalton
Genre: Counter Reformation England, M/M, Printing Press Operator!Todd, Seduction via Sexy Bible Quotes, Seminarian!Dwight, Theology, Too Many Descriptions of Turpentine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemismoon12/pseuds/artemismoon12
Summary: Todd is an ambivalent Printing Press Operator, Dwight is the local priest-in-training who bursts in on him to rant about Protestants. Obviously, they get along.Written for the Daltonfic Big Bang; Week 6, Day 4; Historical AU
Relationships: Todd Hendricks/Thomas Dwight Houston
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	Not the Target, But The Arrow

It was a thankless job, operating the press day in and day out. Laborious assembly theoretically requiring a specialised skillset, but in this city the standards were dropping as the elders could not keep up with new technology. Todd was one of those inexperienced youth taken on as apprentices for the presses in York. It was no centre of information like Geneva, or a bustling trade hub like London- but they did a steady business increasing day by day.

His father was a prolific pamphlet writer, but the elder Hendricks never intended for his son to take up the trade of printing then, let alone go abroad to do it. Todd of course had a plan- learn the trade, travel back north to Scotland once a master, and oust Wyck from the monopoly he held on the lowlands. If he had his own press? Printing his own work? He who controlled the information, controlled the truth- and he intended to place it in the hands of the trustworthy.

Todd took the plates the journeymen had prepared for him, type set after a final review from their foreman (the d-p-q-b debate got the last apprentice fired), fitting it into the mechanisms and setting up the press. A fresh order of King James’ (or rather the Good Book) was on the project schedule. Some new reformer literature would sneak its way onto the work pile, hanging somewhere on the drying racks amongst the hundreds of music notes they’d have for the day. Hopefully the master printer wouldn’t get them all into trouble again by accepting it.

Ink stained hands worked diligently. If not for the gentle glow of the candles replacing the sun, some days he wouldn’t know when it was time to go home. Dawn to dusk always seemed much the same when staring at black lines and yellow pages. Once he entered the press room nothing else mattered.

“Hendricks, where is the red ink? We’ve been requested to personalize the dedication for the Duke.” Print Master Howard asked, searching through the shelves of supplies along the wall. Amongst bottles of materials like turpentine, soot, oils, and varnishes they’d use to either alter their ink supply or create their own.

“Already have it set up and ready.” Todd said, finishing brushing the ink along the edges of the letters for the sections they’d be cutting down later. “We’re doing fifty runs of it, aren’t we? So fifty and a master copy right?”

“No need for a master copy, we still have one from when the Cathedral ordered some for their patronage. Just alter the first page and we should be fine.”

The sawdust used to soak up the ink on the floor suddenly flew up, disturbed as the door was flung open in a flurry of movement. The dark brown, unhemmed cassock of an acolyte dragged, pulling the mess everywhere it was not supposed to be. Typical for an interruption from their most eager client.

“They’ve done it again Todd! Another town converting their church into an ascetic monument to heresy!” Thomas (or as he preferred to be known to the print house) Dwight Houston was the local overly-zealous seminarian and training under Bishop Winters- was in the press house every day after vespers to complain about heresy. Each time, delivering another manuscript of half coherent rants for pamphlet publication. His uncle was rich, if not noble, and could afford his whims as he studied.

It had been after the first encounter with Dwight in which Todd determined the prospective priest had: passion, an unending stream of minute knowledge, and that he could not write a sentence with any hint of charm. Which is to say, Todd had taken it upon himself to edit, or fully rewrite much of what Dwight submitted to them.

Dwight of course had noticed, and after an initial rant, agreed they were in fact better and entered into an agreement with Todd to submit his work early so Todd could rework it. They’d developed a fair relationship; so much so that Print Master Howard considered Dwight primarily Todd’s client- disappearing to hide the reformist papers that brought in extra money from the Bishop’s pet project.

“What have the Protestants done this time?” Todd asked with an indulgent smile, pulling the handle down on the press; ink spreading and holding a page at a time. Each section would be set aside to dry, filling the headspace of the house with the strong scent of ink; after which they would repeat the steps for the other side before cutting and binding the edges. Todd did not appreciate the binding nearly as much as the printing- the glue smelt worse.

“Wheldrake has officially converted. Their church is barren, like their souls will be once they cease with praying for the poor souls they are damning by turning on the Pope.” Dwight said, slamming his newest works on the table next to Todd.

“They’re rejecting the corruption of the structure, not wrestling with the Almighty.” Todd hid his face as it sent Dwight into another flurry.

“Corruption? The Pope is God’s voice on earth! The patriarch of our entire hierarchy leading back to the entrustment of Saint Peter! To accuse him of corruption you would then call the Holy See itself corrupt, you would call God, the church, and all divinity-”

“I know, I know- they’re all possessed by demons, their immortal souls have been corrupted, and you need to exorcise them; and any complaints can be solved by Trent. I’ve heard you before.” Todd said blithely, pulling the lever again, grunting with the effort. He felt a swell of pride, another perfect sheet. To the drying strings it went.

“Todd, I cannot stress how the moral balance of this kingdom rests in the hands of the ley peoples, no matter what her majesty does to restore the damage done by that child!” Dwight gestured to his manuscripts. “They’re holding a council; they’re addressing the problems!”

“Trent has been meeting for nearly a decade now; you can’t expect a farmer who cannot buy their way out of purgatory to agree to such a system.” Todd pointed out.

“It’s, you know as well as I that no real Christian would say any of this unless there was demonic interference!” Dwight threw up his hands.

“Have you considered that perhaps Luther’s people simply, actually want to read the Bible?” Todd smiled, holding up his own page of the Canticles. “Do you want to put me out of a job?”

“Why do I argue with you? Purgatory _purifies;_ demons can’t touch you there.” Dwight frowned, pacing through the stringed pages, examining the verses with a mild look. “Can any of us really say we are without sin? Why would we not want forgiveness for trespasses?”

“Oh I don’t know, is it sin or is it merely harmless fun?” Todd asked, glancing at the words spread below him in amusement. The plate slammed against the paper, pressing the ink into the thin, onion sheets which resembled the onion skins they were named for. “So many folks confess to sins, but never truly regret them. Yet, they receive the same absolution as those who do regret. And who are we to say what is a sin? Are we not just humans?”

Todd glanced around, the journeymen and Print Master Howard were busy with other tasks. He found himself smiling at his bizarre client. “Besides, what sins have you committed that a demon would chase you for? Aren’t you in the seminary? Whatever would the Bishop think?”

“I can’t say my soul is clean but-”

Todd pinned the sheet up, reading from the translation ordered by James I, perverse joy at the horrified look spreading across Dwight’s face as he read, “ _thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely; thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks. They neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men. Thy breasts are like-”_

”Stop!” Dwight was bright red, covering his mouth with his hand. Todd continued reading, grinning at the flustered looks about. He continued anyways.

“- _Awake O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices therof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits_.” Todd finished the chapter, his hand letting the paper go, looking back at his conversation partner, and amusement at his lips. “Is this why you pure clerics don’t want the rest of us reading the good book? Afraid we’ll get ideas?”

Dwight shook his head, “You’re making it perverse! The Song is the joy of marriage! It’s sacred-”

“And yet,” Todd turned the page over as if looking for verses which did not exist. “So little they write of what the Almighty thinks of his beloved’s mouth. How red it is and ripe for plucking?”

“It’s supposed to be beautiful, not base.” Dwight rubbed his chin, fine stubble hinting at a beard he kept trimmed, lest he look unkempt around the Bishop. “You’re twisting the words.”

“I’m reinterpreting it. Isn’t that what I do with your writings? I shift the words, reimagine the contexts, and create a new kind of art.” Todd said, “Can base affections not be found between words? Can true love only be found in the bonds of marriage?”

“Well according to-” Dwight started to rattle off the Florentine theologian who had written a treatise on marital duties, but Todd rolled his eyes and switched strategies.

“You priests swear off love.” Todd hung the last batch of sheets. The strings were full for now and the candles were starting to be lit for the nightly accounts. “What do you know of the bonds of marriage?”

“We swear a vow of celibacy; it wouldn’t mean much if we were not tempted. And when I’m ordained it will be part of my duties to preform the sacrament for couples.” Dwight said, gathering up his manuscript. “It’s one of the seven. You know this. Why am I explaining this to you?”

Todd sighed, pity in his throat, but for himself or for this blundering fool? Who could say? “Maybe I just like the sound of your voice you fool of a priest?”

“Not yet.” Dwight grumbled. “The bishop finds my attentions wander. There is too much talk of the theology and not enough of the practical application. We cannot fight the protestants and- oh especially that odious Calvin or Knox, if we don’t adapt to their language. Their persuasive power is supernatural in origin-”

“Practical application?” Todd asked, wiping down the plates and setting them away. The thick fluids stung his hands. He looked up at Dwight from under the press’ iron levers.

“Well, so often we’re sequestered. We’re not acting with parishes beyond assigning pastoral care and abandoning them. Friars do their good work amongst the poor, but…” Dwight sighed, fiddling with the corner of the machine. “We’re sitting in the cathedral with and every piece is part of the glory, but… the most beautiful parts are the pews. Just made and donated by the carpenter’s guild- not the Bishop of York, not the Duke of Somerset, but the ley people. And in just wood, they made…” Dwight shook his head, something was hard to talk about. “And now the carpenter’s guild are fighting with the smiths, half converted to those vague schismatic notions; but also, Brother Powell from the monastery has told me it’s over _money?_ And who is paying the contracts for the carts and their horses? So to see people who create such beautiful things are swayed by money or dangerous ideas, or _interference of the devil?_ It’s terrifying Todd. If I was there, maybe I could have saved them.”

“Their souls?” Todd asked sceptically.

“Their lives as well.” Dwight said sadly. “Two men died in the fight that broke out. And the Bishop just said to pray for them. As if I wouldn’t!

Todd looked up at him in curiously; putting down the rag. “Maybe we should speak somewhere else.”

Dwight flushed, agreeing to the serious tone. The Print Master waved him off for the night, hunched over the accounts with a sure distraction.

The open air of the street was no real balm against their senses. Ash and sawdust traded for shit and stains of unknown origins on the cobbled streets. Todd adjusted his spectacles, taking the manuscript from Dwight to take a quick look through them. Dwight’s lips were buttoned together, a firm line as Todd looked through his drafts.

The sun was long beyond the horizon; vestiges of its presence hitting only chimneys and nothing else. The moon lit the rest of the way, combined with lanterns outside the houses; offering food, a drink, or company of a sort. They walked to one of the lanterns, Todd reading the words in the flickering light.

With a sigh at the contents, Todd put the paper down, looking at his walking companion. “You can’t control men’s actions.”

“But we’re supposed to shepherd them.” Dwight said frustrated. “We can help, we can guide them out of violence, out of hearing the devil’s call to violence. I just need the Bishop to see that!”

“He doesn’t want you to do that?” Todd asked confused.

“He doesn’t even know I’m here.” Dwight admitted; shamefaced, his voice soft.

Todd realized, “Oh, your name.” Electing to avoid Thomas, in favour of the etymology of the pale?

“If he knew I was here? He’d tell my father; and he’d pull me back to the estates.” Dwight Trying prophesizing anywhere but the pulpit? Oh, he and my father, whose funding my seminary training, they both hate Ignatius Loyola’s new order; they say it’s all nepotism and they’ll lead us into war- but aren’t we at war? Should we not use new tactics? People are dying anyways.”

Dwight looked at him with earnestness in his dark eyes. Todd was reminded why he didn’t throw this young man over to Howard after their first meeting. For all the fervour and odd ideas; and even the clash he felt internally, he did so admire that desire to do _good._ Why could he have not done as all the other young men his age, and simply found his muse in a brothel?

“You’re one man Dwight.” Todd said, shaking his head. “The tides have turned. Maybe something could be done back in 1500, but that was before we were born. It’s too late to steer this ship away from the cliffs.”

“You said whoever controls the words controls the world.” Dwight insisted. Todd hadn’t recalled telling him that; let alone that it would linger long enough that Dwight could quote it back at him. “I don’t want to control, but maybe the ship’s course can be altered? Not the rocks? But the shore? Why do we have to shatter?”

Todd licked his lips, looking away. Tallow burned above him; sounds of laughter came from the inn down the road; the light painted Dwight in blue shadows and orange glows. “Where was this poetry when you were writing your drafts?”

That caught Dwight off guard. “Poetry? I’m just speaking.”

Todd’s laugh ghosted across his mouth. “Forget I said anything. So where does the Bishop think you are if you’re not supposed to be mingling with the flock?”

“Private prayers. Three hours on my knees in my cell. Ugh. I frankly think anything more than one is just lip service, but my cousin mans the gates, so I won’t get locked out when the candles are blown out.” Dwight explained, oblivious to Todd’s sacrilegious thoughts as the two walked along the still-living streets.

“How scandalous.” Todd commented; his chest tight under his jacket, thrown on quickly as they left the Wyndsor Print House, a hand to Dwight’s shoulder, pointing then down the street. “Wait, did you have anything to eat yet? The inn’s just down the street, we could rework the draft together in the-”

Dwight shook his head, looking nervous. “I’m fine. I- I’d like to, but I should be getting back.”

Todd caught his eyes; why so worried? Dwight suddenly looked skittish, like a rabbit a moment before spies the arrow. Was he being hunted? In his directness, he’d always thought of the young cleric as the one spearing anyone in his way, clumsy though he be. Unless…

“Dwight.”

“I’ll find my own way, its fine. You probably have to get home and I’m not hungry anyways. Don’t worry about me.” Dwight waved him off, making to leave.

Todd wouldn’t let the matter rest; pulling Dwight in a gate, the channel between the rows lit only by the vague smudges of shadows from the street. It was quiet. He felt the fine wool of Dwight’s cossock under his hands. It was more expensive than anything Todd had ever owned back in the Midlands. And yet, here was Dwight dragging it out through dirty streets and reeking doorways; and now here it was, being gripped by ink-stained hands.

“You’re tempted.”

“I don’t know to what you refer.” Dwight said quietly. The alley muffled all sound but the two of them.

Dwight’s breathing was a pool, shallow and reflecting the image in front of him. Todd felt a flush on his own warm skin, knowing he had a moment, to seize before it faded, before it slipped from his grasp.

“ _My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.”_ Todd said, barely moving, quoting from the pages he’d printed day in and day out. Each letter he’d help set in place, arranged as the words were put into place by his hand and now by his voice; louder in the silence.

Dwight trembled, feet planted and looking down at Todd; a mix of emotions, fear, dread, confusion, and joy, playing across his face; each one staying for its own dance.

“ _His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.”_ Todd continued, one bold hand reaching up to Dwight’s own tied back hair, its own black wings waiting to be freed and fly about his handsome face. Todd didn’t find himself a measure to his companion, but in this, touching him, he felt like each words was a declaration; a flag planted in territory to be, not claimed, but surrendered.

His lips curled up, his breath mingling with Dwight’s; sharing the air between their brushed noses. _“His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend.”_

The gap disappeared between their lips; Todd’s left hand cradling Dwight’s head, his right curling around Dwight’s shoulders. He felt Dwight’s heart pounding under his ribs, thumping against his chest in a steady rhythm against his. Lips, sweet and red-bitten, moved back against his- soft and questioning, untrained in kisses. He would change that. Lips like this were meant to be kissed.

“We shouldn’t.” Dwight pulled away, but didn’t let go of Todd, hands on his waist, running down the rough fabric of Todd’s jacket. “I- I’ve sworn vows.”

“There are always loopholes dear heart.” Todd murmured, pressing a kiss to Dwight’s jaw. He shivered. “I’ve been told I’m rather persuasive.”

“You’re, no, I-”

“We can stop.” Todd said quietly. “I can straighten my coat, you can go back to your cell and I can go back to my room above the market; and we will never speak of it again. But, if you feel what I do, like the air itself is alive? You’d kiss me again.”

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _A Knight's Tale_ , "Jocelyn is not the target, she is the arrow," as I'm really loving the vibe of courtly love though it doesn't match the period. 
> 
> Fill for the Historical AU prompt kicked me in the ass to finally write something for this concept that's been kicking about in my head for ages. Specifically this iteration is set in 1554-1557 York, England during the Reign of Mary I, Julius III was Pope, and the Council of Trent was halfway through. I originally wanted to put them in Geneva or maybe even Rome, but I figured having it firmly Counter Reformation would work better for this setting. 
> 
> It's rather theology/religious heavy, but hey, that's kind of how shit was in the Counter Reformation. This was the big SJW equivalent of the day. Catholics vs. Protestants, how do political leaders and heads of states interact? I like to see Todd as agnostic/pagan in modern fics; so I just made him... not areligious, but ambivalent to the conflict bc his job means he needs money from both. He'd agree with bits of both sides. After all, Edward VI RAN with the... basically Ivory Tower bullshit of Calvinism, and Mary I restored the religion which really was still rather popular with the common folks. 30,000 folks rioted against Henry VIII when he started the English Reformation after all. Edward VI burnt people too! Henry VII executed folks. But Mary I gets the "Bloody" title? Nah. Perhaps folks weren't thrilled to have a Queen in her Own Right (understatement), but it's protestant propaganda, sexism, and utter bullshit to paint her as a tyrant forcing poor Protestants heel, when the English Reformation on the ground was a swirl of people trying to get by, people trying to keep the status quo, and those trying to destroy and rebuild from the ground up. 
> 
> For most, Catholicism was familiar, traditional, the religion of the masses- which Protestantism was gaining ground, Mary I's England was adopting measures from the ongoing Council of Trent, and was a cutting edge Catholic Church for the time. I imagine all those who entered the Church at this time matched the zeal and enthusiasm of their Queen for all the exciting changes, but also the _high stakes_ of religion; whereas older figures would just want to return to the status quo. 
> 
> Todd out here just trying to get laid & paid though. So Dwight and I are ranting about how history did Mary I dirty, and Todd's just like, yo... so you a priest, will the Song of Songs/Canticles/Song of Solomon do something to you? 
> 
> Also to the extent of my knowledge, the printing press technology is accurate. Regular handwriting ink was too slippery, so a new ink simply for presses was developed using a stickier mix of soot/ash, oil (typically walnut), varnish, and turpentine. 
> 
> I have said turpentine way too many times for a normal day.


End file.
